SNF | Chapter 5.1

“I may have kept the prince too coddled under my skirt. Still, Yeon-oh, I believe a degree of selfishness is necessary for the prince. You know why, don’t you.”

The Empress spoke these words to Yeon-oh after sending off the prince and the princess. Even though Yeon-oh hadn’t uttered a single word about the prince, she addressed his thoughts as if she could see right through him, her voice gentle yet firm. She seemed to think—He’s a child who will one day sit on the throne, so what does it matter if he has a flaw or two?

The Empress wasn’t entirely wrong. An emperor had to make choices for the empire, and when acting solely for the sake of the empire and the imperial family, a certain amount of selfishness was necessary. Besides, unless he was a tyrant, minor flaws wouldn’t even be considered stains in the presence of an absolute ruler.

However, the kind of selfishness required of an emperor and the prince’s selfishness were fundamentally different. That was why Yeon-oh knew he could never easily accept the prince.

Instead of responding, Yeon-oh silently left the palace. Even long after he had departed, the Prime Minister, who had finished his duties for the day, did not ask him anything. He simply reminded Yeon-oh to take charge of family affairs, as he would be busy until the Spring Festival. And so, Yeon-oh secluded himself at home, not stepping foot in the palace until New Year’s Eve.

As per the Prime Minister’s instructions, Yeon-oh diligently fulfilled his duties as the heir. The Prime Minister was preoccupied with state affairs, as befitted a grand chancellor, which naturally left the management of family matters to Yeon-oh.

He pasted red couplets inscribed with auspicious phrases on the gates to ward off evil spirits and kept the lanterns burning bright through the night. He also had to personally receive extended family members who came to pay their respects.

As they saw Yeon-oh growing into his role as heir, their expressions were ambiguous. Some couldn’t hide their unease at entrusting Hanam’s fate to someone who appeared so frail. Among them were also envious glances from those who harbored ambitions not to lose power in their clan.

Yeon-oh paid no heed to the swirling emotions directed at him. He remained steadfast in his role, treating them all with the measured decorum expected of an heir.

He prepared offerings for the ancestral rites, welcomed relatives, and oversaw the cleansing of dust accumulated in the household. Before he knew it, it was New Year’s Eve, just one day before the Spring Festival. The household servants couldn’t contain their excitement for the approaching festivities.

‘It’s the same day that comes every year. What’s so special about it that makes them so giddy?’ Yeon-oh thought, not quite feeling his age as he flipped through his books. After visiting the shrine, the last event of the last month, he finally had some free time. Yeon-oh looked up at the sound of the sliding doors.

“The embroidery on your ceremonial robe for tomorrow is complete. Would you like to try it on?”

The embroidery was surely done well, but the way clothes looked when worn was different from how they appeared laid out. There was no harm in trying them on in advance. Yeon-oh gave a slight nod, and his wet nurse turned to open the door.

A maid entered, carrying the festival attire carefully in her hands.

The fabric, a delicate blue silk, had been a gift from the Empress to her sixteen-year-old younger brother for the Spring Festival. The highest quality silk was smooth to the touch, cascading like liquid, and its sheen was exceptional. Even Yeon-oh, who had always been surrounded by the finest things, couldn’t help but be impressed. It was truly worthy of the imperial tribute.

“I will help you dress.”

Yeon-oh nodded and stretched out his arms without a word. The maid carefully removed his current garments before draping the new attire over him with practiced ease. Yeon-oh didn’t think much of the process, letting it pass over him like an idle breeze.

If they were following proper protocol, dressing in formal attire would take a full two hours. But today, since it was only a fitting, he was done in moments.

The cheonggeum¹, a silk of deep blue, contrasted starkly against Yeon-oh’s fair complexion. With his arms still outstretched, he examined the fit of the robe. His gaze naturally drifted to the hem, where delicate red embroidery of lotus flowers adorned the fabric.

All of Yeon-oh’s ceremonial attire bore the symbol of Hanam—a lotus flower. His inkstone, writing brushes, and paper all bore the same motif. Yet for some reason, this time, the sight of the lotus caught his attention.

Lost in thought as he stared at the embroidery, he lightly twisted his arm, signaling that he was ready to take it off. The maid, who had been assisting him, immediately stepped forward to help him out of the robe.

Once he had changed back into his previous clothes, Yeon-oh took a seat and waved a hand, dismissing the maid.

“Fortunately, there’s nothing that needs to be altered.”

Yeon-oh’s nurse, who had been watching him try on the robe, voiced her thoughts.

“It was sewn by the finest seamstress in the capital—why would there be anything to fix?”

“Still, I’m worried that since you’ve been so busy lately and haven’t been eating properly, you might have lost weight.”

“I was only busy for two days.”

“That’s all it takes for you to lose weight.”

It was true. If Yeon-oh got too caught up in things and skipped meals, he would quickly lose weight. But that was just how his body was. No matter how many tonics he took to strengthen himself, it never really changed.

“With how much care you put into looking after me, do you really think that would happen?”

Replying nonchalantly, he opened the window. The sky was tinged with a soft red, on the verge of fading into darkness. Soon, the sun would set behind the western hills, and when it rose again in the east, he would be sixteen.

Sixteen.

Rolling the number around in his mouth, Yeon-oh rubbed at his dry eyes and leaned slightly outside. As he did, a faint noise reached his ears.

“It sounds like something is happening outside.”

Catching the sound, he turned to his wet nurse and asked what it was.

“It must be the children burning bamboo.”

Tilting her head slightly as she listened, she soon gave her answer. Yeon-oh nodded.

Burning bamboo on New Year’s Eve to send off the old year was a tradition that had persisted for hundreds of years. Tonight, every household would be filled with the crackling sounds of burning bamboo.

“They’re starting early. Don’t they usually wait until it gets dark?”

He glanced out the window at the still-bright sky as he asked.

“Normally, yes. But they’re just children, after all. They must be too excited about the approaching Spring Festival. You remember, don’t you? Back then, turning a year older felt like a good thing.”

Yeon-oh still couldn’t quite relate to that excitement, but he had no intention of dampening their spirits. He didn’t remember much of his own childhood, but surely there had been a time when he, too, had been happy about growing older.

Leaning against the window, he focused on the sound of the bamboo burning. As he did, his gaze landed on the camellia resting on his desk.

“It’s dried out now. I suppose I can use it as a bookmark.”

Realizing where his eyes had wandered, Yeon-oh quickly turned away and looked at his wet nurse instead.

“You’ve been staring at it every day.”

”…Have I?”

“Yes. Ever since you returned from visiting the second young master of the Seocheon family.”

He pressed his lips together. He was aware that his gaze occasionally drifted toward the camellia, but he hadn’t realized it was frequent enough for even his wet nurse to notice. What meaning could it possibly have?

With a slight frown, he pushed the flower to the far corner of his desk. His wet nurse let out a barely concealed chuckle, and when Yeon-oh shot her a glance, she quickly swallowed her laughter.

“Now that I think about it, there haven’t been any letters lately.”

”…He must be busy.”

Since that day, Yeshin hadn’t sent another letter. You don’t notice when someone’s there, but you do when they’re gone. Even though he was the one who had severed ties, there was still a lingering bitterness.

Suppressing the feeling, Yeon-oh glanced at the document chest where the old letters were stored, then quickly looked away.

“Well, there isn’t a single noble family that isn’t busy right now. Though I suppose the Hwaju family must be rather quiet these days.”

“Why Hwaju?”

“The Marquis of Hwaju has secluded himself at the family estate for a long time now. Only the eldest son, who holds an official position, remains in the capital. He’s probably spending tonight alone.”

Feudal lords typically stayed in the capital to maintain their family’s influence. Then why…?

Just as the question arose, realization struck.

The Hwaju family had produced the Crown Princess of Crown Prince Soseong.

After the Grandson of the Crown Prince had died, the Crown Princess lost her position and was expelled from the palace. With no reason to remain, the former Marquis of Hwaju had retired to his homeland, where he had eventually passed away.

It was understandable that the old Marquis had left—he likely couldn’t bear to watch his daughter wither away before his eyes. But for the current Marquis… she was merely his sister.

Is his relationship with the Emperor strained? Or is he hiding away to avoid the Emperor’s scrutiny?

Yeon-oh rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“Do you know what position the eldest son holds?”

“How would I know? This is just something I overheard in passing.”

He had asked even though he knew his wet nurse wouldn’t have detailed information, but not getting an answer still left him feeling dissatisfied.

Yeon-oh leaned back slightly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Are you struggling to fall asleep?”

“Hmm?”

“You rubbed your eyes. You always do that when you can’t sleep, young master.”